


Mistletoe and Misunderstandings

by tenscupcake



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5496677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenscupcake/pseuds/tenscupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extraterrestrials disturb the Doctor and Rose's winter getaway, but a few friends they meet along the way inadvertently nudge their relationship in a new direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe and Misunderstandings

**Author's Note:**

> This is a secret santa gift to myself basically, because I still haven't received mine and there has NOT been enough tenrose Christmas fic and I was frankly desperate for it. So here it is... a healthy dose of tropey Christmas cheese! :P

When he tells this story later, he’ll say they _accidentally_ landed on the outskirts of a Swiss town three days before Christmas.

As far as Rose knows, it _is_ an accident.

But yesterday, just five months since their second Christmas together (his first with pinstripes and sideburns), on a scheduled visit to the Estate, Rose was showing him a Christmas gift her mother bought her four years prior. He wasn’t thinking much of it, at first, but Jackie started to reminisce on other stories from that year – some untalented carolers that passed by their building, the hilarious film they’d watched together over chocolate chip biscuits and hot cocoa.

Suddenly, his eyes weren’t on the TARDIS engine part he’d been working on for forty-five minutes. Instead, he was mesmerized by the way Rose’s face lit up at the memories of the holiday, her smile so wide her cheeks looked like they must hurt and her eyes going squinty with barely contained laughter.

“Quit pointin’ that thing at me!” Jackie had said. He’d blanched and slid his thumb off the sonic, which had suspiciously drifted from its target and towards her face, and reflected back to the events of their most recent Christmas. Only a handful of hours of the day were spent eating turkey and pulling on Christmas crackers and singing along to festive songs. The rest was squandered on the stress of a regenerating Time Lord and the peril of a rogue sect of a hostile species threatening the A positives of the planet.

He’d resolved to gift his companion with an early, arguably extra, dose of the Christmas season before he’d finished fine-tuning the dynamic temporal regulator resting on his thigh.

“Oooo,” he sings in fabricated surprise as he takes a few steps into the crisp snow surrounding the TARDIS with pat-pat-pats of his Chucks. “Appenzellerland. Switzerland.” He hums as he stops in the snow and takes a deep breath, doing his best to convince Rose he can guess the date from the scents and particles in the air. “Twenty-second of December. Two-thousand twenty.”

He smiles gently down at Rose as she plods up next to him, and she clutches his arm in both of hers as she tells him it’s beautiful.

It is. Absolutely brilliant.

Wooden buildings blanketed in sheets of white against a backdrop of snow-covered hills and clusters of frosted, deep green pine trees and a clean, cloudless blue sky above. Far to their left are a ski lift and the towering gray and white mountain that attracts tourists to the village.

But even all this is no match for the woman pressed warm against his side, tight dark jeans, a dark gray peacoat, and a knitted purple scarf snug around her neck. Her cheeks are pink and lips red from the chilled wind, silky ringlets of blonde hair beneath a lavender knit cap.

“Where to first?” he asks, holding out his hand. She presses her palm against his and he threads his bare fingers through her gloved ones (and misses the clammy warmth of her soft skin immediately).

“How about that bakery just there?” She lifts their joined hands to gesture to a particularly inviting, small cabin decorated with candy canes.

“Bakery it is.” He smiles down at her, and she beams back up at him. They dash through the snow like a couple of teenagers, racing each other across the expanse of white, though neither of them are competitive enough to let go of one another’s hands.

\---

There’s a disaster, of course. They stumble upon it – or it stumbles upon them, he’s never quite sure which direction these things go – hardly an hour into their stay. Behind the musty oaken check-in counter of the first cabin-style ski resort of the touristy town they happen to pop into, an elderly couple is complaining about the unreliable power in the lodge going wonky the last couple weeks. They’re using hushed voices meant not to attract the attention of the guests, but the Doctor picks up each and every word, and with a tap on her forearm, ushers Rose over to the counter.

“Sorry, what’s this about power?”

A stapler slips from the short, thin, artificially brunette woman’s fingers and clatters to the ground, thankfully not hitting toes or other extremities on its trajectory. The comparably small, bald man just next to her reaches into the pocket of his Oxford shirt for a pair of glasses with exceptionally thick lenses, affixes them over his eyes clumsily, and stares with narrowed eyes at the pair of them. Glancing quickly over at Rose, he sees her bite her bottom lip before lifting her purple scarf to cover her mouth before she bursts into a fit of giggles.

“John Smith.” Reaching into his jacket, he pulls out the psychic paper and it flaps open within the reading distance he calculates is appropriate. “Electrical technician.” Once the couple’s eyes leave the paper, he quickly stuffs it back into its place and proffers his hand for the man to take, then the lady. They introduce themselves as Arthur and Emilie Massot, owners of the lodge.

“This is my colleague, Rose,” he adds, and she shakes their hands, too, with a nervous chuckle and a smile that he’s certain will take the air from both their lungs.

“What seems to be the problem, Mr. and Mrs. Massot?” Rose asks, her tone impressively professional.

\---

Electrophiles. (Not the organic chemistry term.) Fascinating little creatures. No larger than dwarf mice, clear as polished diamond (and they scatter sunlight into rainbows just the same), community-oriented, remarkably intelligent. A consistent supply of a hefty voltage is obligatory for their cellular function, which coincidentally gives them a voracious appetite for electric currents. Rare but extraordinary biochemistry.

Extricating them from the electrical infrastructure of the building once they have them in sight is simple enough. It’s finding their hiding places that takes most of the time. Nearly two whole days of venturing into guest rooms, digging under boards in the basement and punching away tiles of the attic, carving more than a few holes into the walls and ceilings (he fixes them promptly, of course). The Doctor is able to transport the creatures in the TARDIS by constructing a crude, homemade battery big enough to fit them all (that he whips up in the TARDIS with Rose’s assistance). A quick stop in a neighboring galaxy allows them to deposit the creatures on a volatile, lightning-plagued newborn planet, and that’s it. Disaster averted.

They become quite popular with the locals during their stay.

Arthur and Emilie insist early on that they take a suite to themselves, as a thank-you for providing their services free of charge (when does the Doctor ever bill humanity as recompense for saving the planet?). The Doctor, of course, doesn’t sleep, but Rose makes excellent use of the spacious bed when she shuts her eyes for the evening. It is, like all the rooms in the lodge, beautifully decorated. Snowflake fairy lights hang from the walls, deep green garland spiral around the doorframes and bedposts, cinnamon scented pinecones accent the desk in the corner, and the loo even holds a glass bowl of red and green baubles and peppermint scented soap.

If he could’ve taken Rose anywhere to rekindle the Christmas spirit, the Doctor is glad they ended up here.

Occupants of many rooms offer copious gratitude to them both for solving the mystery of the random power surges and outages. Despite them barging in on their quaint holidays, asking strange and rapidly fired scientific questions, he and Rose have a knack for become the hit of every town they pass through, regardless of any unfortunate circumstances that may coincide with their visit. He thinks it’s something to do with his charm and honest face and maybe his hair, but probably more to do with Rose’s striking beauty and compassion. And let’s face it, they’re both clever, albeit in different though complementary ways.

There’s a gathering downstairs once the sun sets on Christmas Eve, most of the guests in the cozy lodge packed into the vaulted wooden lobby. A twenty-five foot tree towers in the center of the festivities, twinkling with white lights and ornaments of every color and shape they can imagine. Hushed Christmas songs filter through invisible speakers and and a roaring fire crackles in the hearth. Most of the younger adults are at the bar in the corner refilling their wintry cocktails, with the exception of Rose, who’s standing with him and the newlyweds from Room 36 at the much smaller hot cocoa bar.

“I’m telling you,” Janet says, tapping Demetri’s arm with her index finger. She’s a tall, thin woman with dark hair and thick eyebrows. “He’s the worst skier.”

Demetri shakes his head while Janet takes a swig of her cocoa. He’s roughly the same height, but he’s thick with muscle, with a rather square face and dark blonde hair.

“Barely made it off the lift when one of his skis fell off. The hill was so steep it just went sliding down the hill! And he went after it, riding his ski on one leg, pushing off the snow like it was a scooter!”

“It worked, didn’t it!?” Demetri looks positively insulted, and Rose is already pink in the face with mirth. The Doctor reins in his own laughter, waiting for the rest of the tale.

“For about ten feet.”

“It was at least a hundred! And it’d have been more if it hadn’t been for that tree stump!”

“He face planted.” Janet shrugged, bringing her mug back to her lips.

“It hurt.” Demetri rubbed his cheek, which the Doctor noticed was a little swollen compared with the left side. Rose offers her condolences, and it spurs Janet to an apology.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear.” Janet rubs his arm soothingly. “It did look painful. I’m just glad you didn’t get it worse than you did! You could’ve broken something, trying to ski like that. Really injured yourself.”

“She didn’t do much better, mind,” Demetri says. “We were halfway down the hill on our second go, she saw a tree branch in the snow and thought it was a reindeer. Scared herself so much she lost her balance and fell straight on her backside.”

The Doctor can’t hold back his laughter at that.

“Scared of a reindeer!” Demetri repeats, joining in the laughter.

“There _are_ no reindeer in this part of Europe,” the Doctor chimes in.

“Reindeer are dangerous!” Janet defends herself.

“Well, you both made it to the bottom eventually, yeah?” Rose asks, smiling through a sip of steaming chocolate.

The couple nods and explains with enthusiasm how they double-checked the tightness of one another’s skis before their fifth attempt, and that holding hands all the way down was the ticket to their success.

“You see? Brilliant,” the Doctor beams.

Maybe he and Rose can do that tomorrow, go properly skiing. And hold hands again. Maybe. If she wants to.

“All right, then, Rose and the Doctor,” says Janet, curiosity in her voice. (Everyone in the resort had inadvertently learned his preferred name when Rose slipped one too many times, and he confessed he’d rather not be called John.) “You’ve heard everything about us by now. What’s your real story? Not on your honeymoon, too, are you?”

“Oh, no, we’re not married,” Rose says quickly, gesturing between the two of them a few times with her thumb. She looks up at him, raising her eyebrows and lifting up one corner of her mouth impatiently, waiting for him to agree.

“Nope.” He shakes his head vigorously. “Not us. Not married.” He smiles, still, but not like he’s happy about denying it. More like he’s open to the possibility in the future. Not that these acquaintances can even tell the difference between his different types of fabricated smiles.

“How long have you been together?” Janet asks. (They also, shortly after, found out that they weren’t, in fact, coworkers at a Swiss electric company.)

The Doctor knows she means romantically, but decides to play the naiveté card, because Rose is usually duped by it and doesn’t seem to mind.

“We met about two years ago,” he announces proudly.

“Oh, that’s a long time! We’ve not even been together that long. How’d you meet?”

But the Doctor doesn’t hear her question, instead only hears Rose’s voice.

“You’ve got chocolate on your lip.”

She does, too. A strip of brown froth just over her top lip. When a predictable, ephemeral fantasy of licking the chocolate off her mouth with his tongue passes through his mind, he does a fairly good job of ignoring it entirely. Lots of practice.

“So do you.” He nods in the general direction of her mouth.

When he doesn’t wipe the chocolate from his own mouth with his tongue, she raises her hand to his face. He freezes completely, his hearts stopping and breath catching in his lungs, eyes wide as she reaches out to touch her thumb to his lip. She swipes the digit over the remnants of chocolate until she’s satisfied that she’s cleaned it all. He chokes out a quiet thanks, swallowing hard, as she slips her thumb into her mouth and licks off the tiny bit of chocolate she collected.

Oh. That’s. Yes.

The Doctor can think of nothing he’d rather do than retaliate in equal measure, but he’s too nervous to touch her mouth. And especially to taste his thumb after he’s done it. He already wants to kiss her badly enough; inviting that much temptation would just be stupid. As an impromptu compromise with himself, he wipes the remaining bits of foam from her mouth gently with the sleeve of his coat.

“There we are,” he says, and he’s surprised at how strained his voice sounds as the words come out.

“Oh, get a room!” Demetri teases, his voice gruff, waving his hand like he’s had enough of their antics. The Doctor feels that strange red heat in his cheeks and chest that only flares up when Rose is next to him.

“We’ve got one,” Rose laughs.

She’s unfairly cheeky tonight.

Whatever the Doctor is about to say, the words are lost as someone grabs him by the arm and tugs him hard to the side, Rose being dragged right along with him. He stumbles to a stop a few feet from where they previously stood, just as Arthur and Emilie let go of both their elbows. He can feel the squeaky interrogation building in the back of his throat, but Arthur speaks up before he has the chance.

“Would you look at that!” he exclaims, pointing above their heads with glee.

Bracing himself for the worst, he glances up cautiously.

Oh, blimey.

Mistletoe.

“Go on and kiss the girl, Doctor!” Emilie encourages them both.

“Awh, kiss her!” Janet joins in.

Trying for a moment to ignore the tightness in his chest and the sudden, unbearable heaviness of his legs, he turns to Rose, gauging her response. There’s panic in her wide eyes, and embarrassment in the strawberry hue of her cheeks and forehead, and he doesn’t have to give his decision any further thought.

The Doctor remembers how many times she apologized after New Earth, how vehemently she insisted it wasn’t her who had kissed him like that, how tirelessly she explained that she never would have done it if she had been in control of her own mind. Confident that their friendship will be in jeopardy if she has to endure another kiss with him against her will, he shakes his head softly.

“We don’t…” he smiles at Arthur and Emilie. He’s certain the senile couple meant well when they planned to do this, and don’t realize that it isn’t like that between them. That he’s not even a human and Rose would (with good reason) never want that kind of relationship with an alien. But he can’t help but feel like they’ve crossed a line, and an ancient, fiery craving to scold them for pressuring Rose in any way burns in his chest. They’re little more than strangers, and they’ve made her feel uncomfortable when she was having such a good time before.

“Kissing, us? C’mon! Can you imagine that, Rose?” He certain Demetri and Janet won’t be able to discern his counterfeit laugh from his real one, that only Rose will notice the hint of bitterness in it. The way he’s tugging on his hair, though, and the way his other hand is fidgeting in his pocket (so deep he can distinguish the shapes of objects he stuck there weeks ago), that’s fairly noticeable.

“Anyway, I’ve got some… I’ve got to get back to the TARDIS. Yeah, I… forgot to double check on the electrophiles. The… electron flow rate might not be… compatible with their…” he trails off. “Thank you for the lovely stay.” He bows his head at the group around them, making brief eye contact with each of them.

With one meaningful look at Rose, he tries to telepathically communicate that he’s doing this for her benefit, that it’s the only solution he can come up with to make them stop. He is of course unsuccessful, but he’s hopeful that Rose will deduce the sentiment he’s trying to convey nonetheless, and turns on the balls of his feet and jogs for the big, wooden double doors leading outside.

A flurry of powdery snow greets him upon his exit.

\---

Rose reunites with him in the TARDIS library exactly eighteen minutes later.

He’s only just got the tiny, three-foot tree he sonicked down just outside the lodge to stay standing up in the position he wants it, and is about to tear open the box of tree decorations he’s collected over the centuries when Rose gasps behind him.

“What’s ‘is?” she asks. He isn’t sure why she looks confused and a bit startled; he’d expected her to be pleasantly surprised, maybe even to hug him.

“I, umm… a tree.”

“Yeah, thanks.” For once, he picks up on her sarcasm. “I mean… why did you…” She pulls off her scarf, coat, and cap and runs a hand through her hair nervously.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to stay longer, after what happened. So I thought I’d… decorate a little. Bring some Christmas back to the TARDIS.” He scratches at the back of his neck, grimacing down at the miniature tree. “It was a stupid idea.”

“Mm-mm.” She shakes her head, biting back a smile. “You’re sweet.”

“Yeah?” One corner of his mouth lifts up.

“Yes.”

She helps him get some lights and ornaments on the tree, listening intently to each and every story he tells of how and where he acquired each unique decoration. None of them match in color or shape, but Rose seems thrilled rather than put off by the lack of coordination.

When the tree is about three-quarters finished, Rose brings up what happened.

“People are always tryin’ to force us to do things you don’t want to do. Or can’t do. I mean, whichever it is, it’s fine. Either way. I mean, I’m only sayin’ I’m sorry that everyone thinks…”

She’s doing that thing again, where she looks down to avoid eye contact and she talks so fast the words blend together, her thoughts coming out jumbled and hardly intelligible. But while she’s struggling to think of the right words to say, to revise what she’s already said or find a way to appease him or whatever she’s trying to do, an alarm suddenly blares in his mind at her choice of words in her first sentence. ‘Things you don’t want to do.’ ‘You’ in this case, referring to him.

“What do you mean?” he asks, providing no more clarification for his question than she had for her longwinded, unnecessary apology.

“Wha’?” She looks too uncomfortable to elaborate further, like she wants nothing more than to stop talking about it, explanations be damned.

“You said ‘things _I_ don’t want to do’? Just me?” he questions, hoping it’s enough, and she can say no, that she misspoke and she meant to say ‘we’ and they can move on.

“Well…”

Silence falls between them for a length of time that tells him she _did_ mean exactly what she said. Something snaps into place in his head, as satisfying as a well-crafted puzzle piece being tucked into place between its intended neighbors. All that convincing she did after New Earth was because she thought _he_ didn’t want that kiss, not because she hadn’t.

“I mean, I understand, you know, ‘s all I meant. I’m not upset or anything...”

“You want to kiss me?” he asks in disbelief.

Rose had been still staring resolutely at the ornament she’s been trying to situate on the same branch for sixty seconds straight, but at his question it slips from her fingers and drops to the floor with a sharp crack of glass.

Neither of them spares a glance at the shattered decoration, but Rose finally looks at him. It’s only for a moment, but her eyes betray her even in that fraction of a second, shock and the exhilarating fear of a discovered secret glistening beneath her lashes before she turns back to the tree. She hesitates for a while, shaking her head while her skin turns that lovely shade of pink again, starting a number of sentences she’ll never finish.

“Rose?” he prods, leaning his head forward impatiently as warm excitement bubbles up in his chest.

She turns to look at him, biting half of her bottom lip, but something catches her eye above his head and she visibly gulps as she stares up at it. He tilts his head back, and a smile splits his face as he silently thanks the TARDIS, just this once, for interfering. Mistletoe.

Rose’s gaze drifts down to his mouth, and it’s all the answer he needs.

Nudging her hands with his, he threads their fingers together, closes his eyes, and brings his mouth to hers. The first kiss is soft, a light touch of dry lips that just lets them _feel_ each other for the first time. She slumps against him, her lips molding against his. He pushes forward with gentle pressure, hoping she can somehow understand he wants to introduce her to this intimate part of himself slowly. Carefully. But her mouth is so soft and warm and better than he ever dreamed, her lips so full and inviting, her little hums of surprised pleasure so gorgeous, that he forgets why he should proceed with caution.

He also forgets to breathe (and use his respiratory bypass).

He pulls away, and she gasps for breath, dropping his hands and touching a few quivering fingers to her lips, eyes never leaving his. Had they been open the whole time? He thought it was quite nice, being without vision for the experience. He can see why humans fancy it. Had she not enjoyed it as much as he had?

But before he can second-guess himself any more, Rose takes his face in her hands and pulls his mouth back down to hers.

The second kiss is different. Not a lingering, static touch of their mouths but a slow, synchronized choreography of wet lips that pushes and pulls and tingles with electricity. Her tongue brushes along the seam of his lips, and his knees nearly give out beneath him. She tastes like the early morning droplets of water collected on rose petals, crisp and clean and tinged with minerals and the earth, and vague echoes of hot chocolate.

She doesn’t pull away, though, she stays in the envelope of his arms willingly and teaches him how she likes to be kissed, rewarding him with little moans in the back of her throat when he masters a new technique. Her arms wrap around his neck and he circles his around her back and he pulls her against his chest, and he’s halfway prepared to use all his considerable Time Lord strength to hold her there because he doesn’t want it to end. He’s more than happy to go on kissing her until the last of his regenerations expires.

When Rose pushes against his shoulder, though, he allows her to break the kiss. Slowly and carefully, Doctor, remember?

The fairy lights on the tree twinkle in her eyes as she catches her breath.

She hums deeply as she rests her head on his collarbone, her hands wandering over his shoulders and down his chest. For heaven’s sake, even that feels good. Probably a lot better than it should. Why hadn’t he asked if she wanted to kiss him ages ago? This is without a doubt the best thing they’ve ever done. Clearly, he’d forgotten how lovely it is to kiss a human, how warm and passionate and messy they can be. Truth be told, his head is still spinning a little.

“Is mistletoe a prerequisite to kissing you?” he asks quietly once her breathing is completely calmed.

She giggles, fiddling with the knot in his tie.

“Might be.”

He hums thoughtfully.

“Weeell. Looks like we’ve got some shopping to do.”

“Oh?” She leans back to look up at him, and pulls his tie out of his jacket altogether.

“Oh, you watch me, Rose Tyler. I’ll buy some for every room in the TARDIS, if that’s what it takes.”

She raises one eyebrow skeptically.

“’S a big ship. That’d be expensive. ‘Specially for a cheap date like you.”

With an impish grin, he tilts her chin up, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip.

“These lips are worth it.”

The Doctor always thought seeing Rose smile at him was the best thing in the universe, but feeling her grin widen against his mouth as he kisses her again, he thinks he’s found a new favorite.


End file.
